


Conversations with Lord Tristan

by CynicInAFishbowl



Series: Politics and Profanity [3]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Certainly My Favourite Peer of the Realm, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Everyone's Favourite Eccentric Peer of the Realm, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-28 00:14:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicInAFishbowl/pseuds/CynicInAFishbowl
Summary: More Lord Tristan. Huzzah.All of the conversations and machinations and general chicanery which can't otherwise make it into my fics.





	1. Meanwhile, in Conversation with Miss Caroline Bingley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter happens during the action of chapter 3 of An Evening at the Opera.

Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam, the –th Earl of ---- followed Caroline Bingley into her study, closed the door behind him, and accepted the port she handed him. Caroline seated herself in the oversized tufted leather and wood swivel chair behind her desk, and moved the monitor of her computer so that she had a good view of Lord Tristan, who was, as usual, looking annoyingly louche. 

“Why are you really here, Tris?” she asked.

“I messaged to see if you were doing anything tonight, you said that Mary was over, baking, and that you were hanging about ineffectually as she played with kitchen equipment you weren’t even fully aware that you owned, and so of course I came over, because I wanted to give dear young Evelyn an opportunity to socialise.”

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s rather smitten.”

“Surely not!” Caroline gasped.

“Surely yes,” Lord Tristan reiterated, taking a very smug sip of port. “She’s basically everything he’s ever been looking for. Wildly intelligent, slightly odd, occasionally terrifying, a fan of the contact sports, and she plays the bagpipes. Unfortunately for him, she seems to be entirely unaware of the fact that she likes him, and he’s far too much of a gentleman to ever try to push the point.”

“Really! I had no idea.”

“He’s been admirably stoic about it all. It’s rather adorable.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Mary is absolutely delightful, and I am very much looking forward to having her as a sister-in-law before too long, but I could have sworn that Evie was rather taken with Elizabeth when they first met. Indeed he said something to that exact effect. Fitz can back me up on that.”

Lord Tristan shrugged and looked off into the middle distance. “She was a bit… intense for him. Too, you know, obsessed with the running of the government and the like. Terribly admirable quality in a civil servant, don’t get me wrong, but not quite what the lad is looking for. This all became terribly clear to him the moment he met dear Mary, because she is basically his perfect woman made flesh. You should hear him mooning over her at home. It’s interminable. They’re meeting for coffee at least twice a week, chatting about anything and everything, and so if there’s any opportunity to thrust the two of them together in the hope that he galvanises himself enough to ask her out on an unequivocal date some time soon, I am going to take it, and I’d be thrilled if you were happy to go along with it.”

“That’s wildly adorable, but equally, you have got to be kidding me.”

“I am deathly serious. No word of that was a lie.”

“Straight people,” commented Caroline with a roll of her eyes.

“Straight people,” Lord Tristan agreed. 

There was a pause, before Caroline turned a shrewd gaze on Lord Tristan. “None of that was a lie?”

“All true.”

“You see, now that I know how he feels about her, I wish to observe. Shoot a few knowing looks. Make some pointed remarks. The usual nonsense.”

“As, my darling, do I. But I feel that we should give them another couple of minutes, if for no other reason than to give them the vague impression that we actually had something to discuss.”

“Not to mention, give them some time to relax into each other’s company before we reappear like shock-troops to make them uncomfortable.”

“Quite, my dear,” an almost malevolent sip, “quite.”

“Tris,” Caroline said after a moment.

“Hmmm?”

“You have, I’m sure, purchased some tickets to that women in the Arts gala?”

“Not yet.”

“If you’re happy to accompany me and not the other way around, I have the most delicious idea.”

“I think I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Lord Tristan chuckled. “Have I your leave to be as unnecessarily dramatic as I see fit?”

“Why Tristan, my dear, I would expect absolutely nothing less.”

Caroline and Lord Tristan eventually reappeared to find Mary and Fitzwilliam taking turns constantly whisking a rather sizeable batch of lemon curd, while debating the bounds of statistical significance. Lord Tristan cocked an eyebrow in Caroline’s direction, as if to say ‘how could you have doubted me’.

“You are my favourite human in the world,” she muttered in response, patting him on the back.


	2. Meanwhile, in Conversation with Miss Charlotte Lucas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONVERSATIONS AT THE WEDDING PART ONE OF TWO.

Charlotte was sitting at a table at Jane’s wedding, enjoying her friend’s evident discomfort at having to dance with her workplace nemesis, and taking a number of not at all sneaky photos on her phone to chuckle over later, when she was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. She turned to see a blast from the past.

“Tris!”

“Charlie! How are you, my darling! I haven’t seen you in years!”

Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam, the –th Earl of ---- seated himself next to her and took a look at the pictures on her phone. He clearly hadn’t learned much about boundaries in the years since they had last seen each other. This was not a surprise in the slightest. He never was one for boundaries. “Christ on a fucking bicycle, she absolutely fucking loathes him, doesn’t she?” he asked, continuing to scroll. “Also, how on earth are you taking photographs that good on a mobile phone?”

“I’m a professional photographer, Tristan.”

“And mobile phones make every photograph uniformly shit.”

“I’m that good,” Charlotte smiled, taking the phone back and snapping a selfie of the two of them. “Oh look!” she commented, “You still have that ungodly ability to pout in any photograph.”

“I know what works with my face, my darling.” Lord Tristan said, giving her cheek a casual caress.

Upon catching sight of a very well-dressed gentleman caressing the cheek of his ostensibly very lesbian daughter, Sir William Lucas began to approach.

“Alright, Tris, my dad is making his way over here, and if you don’t want to get stuck explaining how you know me to my lovely, if very nosy, progenitor, we’re going to make a break for it now, and snag a couple of bottles of wine for when Elizabeth inevitably wants to get drunk and rant about Tory assholes.”

“Is that a regular occurrence?” he asked as they stood.

“More regular than I think either of us would like to admit.”

And so they found themselves on a balcony, overlooking the maze behind the house.

“So Charlotte, my darling, how’s the homosexuality treating you?” Lord Tristan asked.

Charlotte shrugged. “Same old, same old. I keep oscillating between trying to find the right person and settle down and just wanting to adopt fifteen cats.”

“You do realise that you can have both.”

“Ugh but all of the lesbians I meet are artsy scum and I don’t like them.”

“Charlie, my dear, _you_ are artsy scum.”

“And there’s a reason I’m not dating me.”

“Well there go my plans to set you up with Caroline Bingley and have both of my favourite lesbians around.”

“Sorry babe. Anyone who has hair that colour is definitely not my type.”

“Which colour?”

“Exactly.” Charlotte flopped her head onto Tristan’s shoulder. “I’m loving the smoking jacket, by the way.”

“It’s a dinner jacket which just so happens to be made of velvet.”

“It’s a blazer made of velvet, Tristan, it’s a smoking jacket.”

“My man on Saville Row would very much beg to differ.”

“Your man on Saville Row is paid to very much beg to differ.”

“You had almost exactly the same jacket.”

“Still have, present tense, my lovely. And it’s a smoking jacket, because it’s a blazer made of velvet.”

 “Says the girl who spent almost all of her time on exchange dressed as a lady lumberjack.”

“Excuse you, bitch, I was dressed as a standard lumberjack. Lumberjacks aren’t gendered. Jesus _Christ_ , Tristan, not everything has to be gendered.”

“Cis scum et cetera?” Tristan asked, kissing her on the head.

“Oh god I’d forgotten how social justicey I was.”

“Charlie, my darling, you refused to spell the word ‘Women’ with any vowels. And I’m pretty sure there was the letter Q in there somewhere just to spice things up.”

“There was no letter Q.”

“Wasn’t there? I thought the Q was silent.”

“How come you don’t have any embarrassing shit in your past?” Charlotte moaned.

“Darling, I was a twink for almost a decade. You wouldn’t believe the embarrassing shit in my past. I just scrubbed the record fucking clean.”

“I remember the twink phase.”

“What? I was out of my twink phase when I met you on exchange.”

“Oh Tristan. No. You were very not out of your twink phase. I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re out of your twink phase.”

Tristan gasped in a manner which did not help his case. “Ok, I see where you’re coming from. That’s a great dress you’re wearing, by the way.”

“Just because you were inside me this one time during university doesn’t mean you get to comment on my appearance.” Charlotte paused, horrified. “Oh god.”

“You can take the girl out of the social justice society, but you can’t take the social justice out of the girl.”

“Woman, you aging twink.”

“Is that woman with one Q, or two?”


	3. Meanwhile, in conversation with the Honourable Colonel Evelyn Fitzwilliam, Viscount ----mont...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our favourite peer of the realm tries to galvanise his favourite hetero.
> 
> Set immediately after the wedding of Jane and Bingley - after ch10 of P&P, and after ch4 of An Evening.

Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam, the –th Earl of ----, could be a stealthy motherfucker when he chose to be. Generally, that was not the choice he made, but when the situation required it, he could do the thing. So when his younger brother, the Honourable Evelyn Fitzwilliam, the Viscount ----mont, walked into his room, closed the door, leaned against it, and groaned “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”, his brother didn’t expect him to be sitting in the dark… lurking… waiting.

Yet there he was, waiting to rise from the depths, like dread Cthullhu.

He switched on the conveniently placed lamp next to him. His brother, a decorated war hero, shrieked like a little girl and jumped slightly. Tristan tried not to laugh. He didn’t try very hard.

“What the actual fuck, Tristan?” Evelyn asked, collecting himself after the little fright he had just received.

“Care to elaborate on your initial comments?” Tristan shot back.

“Care to explain why you’re lurking in here like a bond villain?”

“You left the reception pretty early, my boy, and in the company of a lady. A lady for whom you hold rather a girthy candle.”

“Tristan?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve had the conversation about you using the word ‘girthy’ unnecessarily in conversation.”

“You talked, I ignored, my good man. Now answer the question, you squirrelly little shit.”

“What was the question again?”

Tristan quirked an eyebrow infinitesimally. “Not so much a question as an insinuation. You left the reception with a nice young lady, and are returning to your rooms rather late. One might wonder what had happened in the intervening period.”

“One might,” Evelyn said, sitting down on his bed and detaching his leg.

“Well???” Tristan prompted.

“Well what?”

“WELL WHAT HAPPENED???????”

“Tris, are you aware of the fact that I’m currently trying very hard not to kick you in the head with my detachable leg?”

“Evie, of course you are. If I had a detachable leg, I’d be using it to kick people in the face all the time. Now tell me, what were you doing leaving the reception early with the good lady.”

“The good lady cut her hand while clearing up some broken glass, and needed some first aid,” Evelyn said, removing his tie.

“Ok, so I suppose a better question would be ‘why didn’t you return to the reception afterwards’. Why didn’t you return to the reception afterwards?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Evie, I have all the time in the world. And returning to your opening remarks, you definitely need to talk to someone about something. One does not lean against a door and groan ‘fuck’ unless _something_ is up.”

Evelyn sighed. “So it initially looked like it would need stitches, and so I was going to take her to A&E, but then Charles mentioned that I had field medic training, and one thing led to another, so we ended up going to the library because we weren’t going to be disturbed. There weren’t any painkillers in the medical equipment they gave me, and, by the way, do all doctors just casually carry around supplies to stitch someone up? Because that’s weird as shit; but anyway, since we were in the library, I improvised with some old-fashioned anaesthetic courtesy of the drinks cabinet. As it turns out, it wasn’t as bad as it looked when it was covered in blood and bleeding everywhere, so I had actually just gotten her unnecessarily hammered. So I stayed with her until she sobered up a bit, and then I showed her around, because she had expressed the intention to look around for the ‘inevitable creepy portrait gallery’.”

“And then you kissed her,” Tristan suggested.

“No,” Evelyn looked at him as if he were an idiot. “And then I walked her to her room, and then things became very complicated.”

“Because you kissed her.”

“Nobody kissed anybody, ok?”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because friends don’t just kiss friends willy-nilly.”

Tristan sighed. “Stepping past that for the moment, in what manner did things become very complicated?”

Evelyn looked a bit uncomfortable. “She was down the use of one hand because she couldn’t risk restarting the bleeding, so she needed a bit of help with…” his visible discomfort had racheted up to ‘exceedingly’, “disrobing.”

“Yes she fucking did!” Tristan whooped, punching the air. “Get in!”

“What part of ‘nothing happened’ are you not understanding?” Evelyn asked, looking long suffering.

“I’m sorry, did you or did you not help her to get undressed?”

“I did.” Evelyn looked terribly ashamed. Tristan waggled his eyebrows in both an aggressive and a suggestive manner. Evelyn continued, “A friend needed a hand, as it were, and I helped her out. I’m pretty thoroughly in the friendzone there.”

Tristan was mystified. “How are you so useless at picking up on cues? And why didn’t you kiss her? How are you literally so useless at courtship?”

"Let’s see, shall we? I was at Eton, then I was studying pure maths at university, then I was in Afghanistan, then I lost my leg. Literally none of those places were exactly conducive to meeting women. I'm not... good at this sort of thing, Tris."

"Evie, my dear, you're an attractive young man with a stellar personality, and almost a full complement of working limbs. What more could you need?"

"For her to be interested in me?"

Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam, the –th Earl of ----, rolled his eyes so hard he almost blacked out for a moment. His brother was a fuckwit, and refused to see it. He resolved to discuss the matter with Caroline as soon as was practicable. She at least could elucidate the finer points of.... well…. women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve experimented with changing the tone of the narration here, to better reflect the tone of the conversation. It starts off like the Lord Tristan we all know and love, and then pretty soon the prose is a lot simpler, reflecting the fact that this is just two brothers chatting. Or at least that’s my literary wank explanation. idk.


	4. Meanwhile, in conversation with Caroline Bingley, and peripherally, Fitzwilliam minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the ball, there is an interrogation. Fitzminor is feeling very attacked right now.

Caroline Bingley and Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam were enjoying their usual post-ball activity: drinking copious amounts of gin while wearing matching banyans and gossiping about the evening. As was their way.

“Tris, darling, were you aware that Evie and Mary have been pretending that they're dating?"

"Excuse me?"

"I was chatting with Mary Crawford, and she seemed to be under the impression that other Mary and Evelyn were dating rather seriously."

"And why on earth is she under that impression?" asked Lord Tristan after a moment of choking on his drink.

"Something she heard from her brother. Apparently the two of them had been looking terribly coupley. I proceeded to ask them what on earth was going on, and it would appear that it was a bluff that the two of them have been keeping up because they're in too deep with the fakement."

"I think I'm still missing the reasoning behind why they were pretending to date in the first place."

Caroline refreshed their drinks and sat back down. "Look, to be honest, Tris, I'm still a bit fuzzy as to that as well. Mary was too busy blushing horrifically and burying her face in his shoulder. It was super adorable and I was distracted from my line of questioning. I think it was something to do with some long-standing non-thing between Mary and her little brother. Mary was also short on the details."

"Bennet or Crawford?"

"Yes."

Tristan snorted. "I take it that you getting him to see her home is some delightfully hamfisted attempt to get him to admit to his feelings?"

"You know me too well."

"Do you think it'll work?"

Caroline gave Tristan an exceedingly camp look. "You're the one who grew up with him. Do you think it'll work?"

"Honestly?" Tristan said, "I doubt it. He'd consider it taking advantage."

Caroline groaned. "How can I live vicariously through that boy if he won't make a move?"

"You're complaining, Caroline? I'm the one who lives with him. I get to deal with him moping about the place because he can't muster up the courage to just ask her out."

"He's moping?"

"Oh lord is he moping."

They both rolled their eyes eloquently and took another drink.

It was then that Fitzwilliam minor walked in and started slightly at the sight of his brother and his brother's best friend wearing matching robes. The banyans were a new development.

"Sooooooooooo????" Tristan prompted.

"Sooooooooooo what?"

"Please tell me that you finally made a move."

Fitzwilliam stood in the doorway looking very betrayed. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends can have sex, you know.”

“Thanks, Caroline,” he said acidly, accepting the drink that Tristan handed him, “but one does not just whip one’s dick out amongst friends.”

“Doesn’t one?” Caroline asked drily, looking pointedly in Tristan’s direction.

“That was two times, maximum, and I told you that in confidence.”

“There is no ‘in confidence’ when it comes to your family,” Caroline countered, turning back to face Evelyn. “The two of you have been pretending to be dating for some not entirely explained reason, and I swear that the sexual tension between the two of you is thick enough to spread on toast.”

“There’s no sexual tension, Caroline. She sees me as a friend.”

“Firstly, my boy, bullshit. Secondly, do you see her as a friend?”

“Look, obviously I like her. But I’m not about to risk our friendship just because I have some horrifically unrequited crush on her.”

“Not to be crass,” Tristan said, in a manner which made it very clear that he was about to be horrifically crass, “but given how long it took for you to see the girl home, what on earth were you doing? Please at least tell me that this wasn’t a repeat of the wedding.”

“Oh fret not,” said Fitzwilliam. “She showed me her apartment and we drank tea.”

Tristan slumped theatrically. “Could the two of you be any more married?”

“Oh god, I know.” Fitzwilliam put his head in his hands.

Caroline shrugged. “So please explain to me why Mary Crawford’s brother thinks that the two of you are dating?”

“Because the two of them were hate-flirting or some such, and she seemed to need an out, and so I played the role of slightly possessive boyfriend which, might I point out, I played a number of times for you.”

“How possessive?” Caroline asked, stretching out like a manipulative cat.

“Pretty bad,” he admitted.

Caroline stood, walked over to him, and slapped him on the back of the head. “You abject fucking moron! No girl who isn’t slightly attracted to you would even moderately tolerate that level of bullshit.”

“So what’s your excuse?” he asked, feeling even more betrayed.

“It appears that Tristan’s school chums don’t seem to believe that lesbians actually exist, but are rather respectful of the claim of another man.”

“How territorial are we talking?” Tristan asked.

“Look, Tris,” said Caroline, “when it was me, a women for whom he had I am hoping no sexual attraction, your brother was delightfully handsy and had a penchant for kissing me on the temple.”

Tristan stood and slapped his younger brother on the back of the head. He just wanted to get in on the slapping.

“Holy shit, you guys. What the fuck. Where is all this violence coming from?”

“The fact that you are literally blind, Evelyn.” Caroline and Tristan had somehow managed to say exactly the same thing at the same time. It was eerie.

“I guarantee, Evelyn, that her feelings for you are not entirely platonic,” said Caroline, “not if she’s letting you get that handsy. No self-respecting young woman would let that shit slide.”

“How handsy are we talking?” Tristan asked. Caroline demonstrated. Tristan wormed his way out of her embrace and looked at his brother reproachfully. “That is very handsy. What the fuck, Evie. You need to jump on that. She is an absolute cracker of a filly, and I’m willing to believe Caroline’s assessment that she likes you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to say things like that any more,” Fitzwilliam commented.

“You’re definitely not allowed to say things like that any more,” Caroline confirmed.

“You two are absolute children,” Fitzwilliam lamented, absenting himself from the room.

“Fifty quid he doesn’t do anything about it for so long that Mary makes the first move,” Caroline commented once he had left the room.

“I’ll take that,” Tristan said with a handshake.

And so a gentleman’s arrangement was born. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this just feels like set-up, it's because the really fun stuff is ABOUT TO HAPPEN. STAY TUNED, FAM.


	5. Meanwhile, in conversation with Lord Reginald Bennet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so in this universe, as we are aware, Mr Bennet has been kicked up to the House of Lords, and as such, ought to be referred to as Lord Bennet. There will, as a result, be no Mr Bennet in this fic, only Lord Bennet. #ClassicReg

 

The Honourable Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam, -th Earl of ----, paused at an empty chair, which faced an occupied one. “This seat taken, Reg?” he asked, causing the man he faced, the Honourable Lord Reginald Bennet, to look up from his copy of The Economist. 

“Does it look taken?” Lord Bennet asked, returning to his magazine. “You’ve clearly got something you want to talk about, Tristan.”

Lord Tristan took the seat. “I thought that I should probably give you a bit of a heads up.”

“Oh yes?” Lord Bennet closed the magazine. He was, evidently, intrigued.

“It would appear that my younger brother has formed a bit of an attachment to your daughter.”

“Remind me who your younger brother is?”

“Assistant cum secretary cum chief and only advisor to the member for Pemberley also known as the Minister for Youth and Unemployment. Army Colonel. The Viscount ----mont. Short most of a leg. Generally a good lad, even if I am a bit biased.”

Lord Bennet shrugged, clearly uninterested,  and opened the magazine again. “I don’t see what you were so nervous about. He’s made a good choice. Lizzie’s a fine young woman, and I think they’d get along splendidly.”

Lord Tristan, usually so relaxed in every situation, shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t talking about Lizzie.”

Lord Bennet stopped midway through turning a page, and looked back up at Lord Tristan. “And which daughter, pray tell, were you talking about,” he asked, deathly quiet. “Because I have a finite supply of daughters, an even smaller proportion of whom I’d be happy about carrying on with some 30-something-year-old redcoat, a proportion which was recently very much diminished by Jane getting herself married.”

“It would appear that he’s rather set his hat on Mary,” Lord Tristan explained.

Lord Bennet placed his Economist on the table in front of him. He had more pressing issues to which he needed to attend. “Mary,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Mary,” he said again, sounding incredulous.

“Yes. Your thirdborn.”

“Mary?” 

Lord Tristan mused privately that he had always thought of Reg Bennet as rather sound of mind, but he was starting to wonder if too much time married to his harridan of a wife had diminished his capacity somewhat. “Do you have more than one daughter named Mary?”

Lord Bennet waved off that question. “Your dashing young war hero brother has not only managed to become acquainted with her, which is unlikely in and of itself, because she studies not two miles from here and yet I haven’t seen her since Jane’s wedding, and before that, not for six months at least; but he has also spent sufficient time in her company to form an attachment, and most relevant, he spent sufficient time in her company to form an attachment, and having spent that much time with her, formed one. I love all my daughters, but even I’ll admit that Mary’s weird.”

“I rather like her,” Lord Tristan admitted. “She’s a delight.” Lord Bennet muttered something which sounded oddly like ‘save me from the madness of the aristocratic bourgeouisie’. “And rather more to the point,” he continued, “Evie thinks she’s smashing. He rather likes her occasional eccentricities. And she seems to tolerate him, so I can’t allow that much to be said against her.”

“So why did you feel the need to give me a heads up, Tristan. You don’t disseminate gossip, you just accumulate it.”

“Ah yes,” Lord Tristan stretched his legs out in front of him. “I rather thought that you might like to give some thought to some kind of ‘wildly overprotective father figure’-type speech, which you could deliver unto him at some opportune moment. Have an opportunity to really put the fear of god into someone. I, of course, would be delighted to offer whatever assistance I could…”

Lord Bennet smiled and removed his reading glasses. “You want me to terrify your brother as some kind of prank, don’t you.”

“More or less, but without the part when we tell him that it’s a joke.”


	6. Meanwhile, in conversation with the Honourable Evelyn Fitzwilliam, Viscount ----mont, and Miss Caroline Bingley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insinuations are made.

Lord Tristan Fitzwilliam was at home when his younger brother flung open the front door and joined him in the sitting room, flopping dramatically onto a chaise longue like the over-dramatic heroine of a regency novel. 

“And hello to you, dear brother,” Tristan said archly, looking up from his newspaper. “How are you this fine evening?”

His brother groaned in response, an arm covering his face.

“Oh wait. Don’t tell me you finally got around to telling dear Mary that you love her so very much and you want to marry her and make lots of babies et cetera et cetera and it didn’t go well.” That would have very much explained Evelyn’s current langour.

“No,” Evelyn moaned.

“Are you  _ going _ to tell her that any time ever?” Evelyn just groaned in response, so Tristan continued. “Because it’s bloody obvious that you’re head over heels for her, and she is an absolute cracker of a filly.”

“Are you allowed to say things like that any more?” Evelyn asked, sitting up slightly. 

“Probably not,” Tristan admitted, “but I cannot help but notice that you refuted none of that. And if you want any of that to happen, you will actually have to talk to the lass. Now why all the groaning?”

Evelyn flushed slightly. This was going to be good. “I had a number of thoughts this afternoon which honestly, I think stopped being ok to think in the mid-fifties, and I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Tristan leaned forward in delight. “Don’t tell me that you went full caveman. Tell me everything.”

“She was babysitting a friend’s small child, and I saw her, carrying this kid, and honestly, the first thought that popped into my head was the fact that I wanted nothing more than to marry her and produce many fine sons to carry on the family name. Which is an entirely unacceptable thought to be having in this day and age.”

“Christ,” Tristan commented, pulling a phone out of his pocket, dialling Caroline, and putting her on speakerphone.

“Tris! Darling! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Caro, my dear, Evie is here, apparently thinking all kinds of impure thoughts about dear Mary.”

“Tell me everything,” she enthused. Tristan obliged. When he was done, she said “I’ve heard of women getting all broody when they see babies, but I had no idea that that sort of thing happened to men as well.”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Tristan said airily. “He already liked her, and then when he saw her in a motherly aspect, he awakened all sorts of urges to propagate the species.”

“Good lord, how perfectly ghastly!” Caroline commented.

“I know,” Tristan agreed.

“Evie, are you there?” Caroline asked.

“Unfortunately,” Evelyn replied.

“I think you’ve been way too subtle with the way you're going about things, because I've been chatting with her about our mutual acquaintances, and she seems to be pretty convinced that you're just friends, and that you're not interested in anything more.”

Evelyn sighed. “Elizabeth said that I needed to take things slowly, otherwise she’ll bolt like a spooked horse.”

“Christ, Evie,” Tristan said in exasperation. “You’ve been seeing her for coffee and sexual tension upwards of twice a week for months now. How much more glacial could your progress possibly be?”

“Not to mention,” interjected Caroline, “that dear Eliza doesn’t necessarily know her sister as well as she thinks she does.”

“There are some stumbling blocks,” Evelyn pointed out.

“Those being?” Tristan sounded accusing more than anything else.

“Did neither of you see who picked her up after Jane and Charles’ wedding? I’m pretty sure she’s already dating someone.”

“Wait,” said Caroline. “Tall, muscles, better stubble than you could ever pull off, cheekbones that could cut a man, the best eyebrows I’ve ever seen, literally the physical incarnation of a Greek god?”

“That is a remarkably apt description,” sighed Evelyn in a defeated manner.

“That’s Nikandros. One of her PhD buddies. He’s more of a platonic sidekick than anything else.”

“Really, now,” Tristan mused.

“He isn’t gay, Tris.”

“Not even slightly?” Tristan enquired academically.

“Not even slightly.” Caroline confirmed.

“Pity.”

“So tell me, Evie,” Caroline continued, “are you going to finally talk to her?”

Evelyn sighed. “Yes.”

“Soon?”

“Soon.”

“Fantastic!” Tristan said brightly. “And while we’re on the subject, I may have been chatting with her father over a game of chess and might have ever so accidentally let slip that you have designs on his middle daughter, so, you know, be alert, not alarmed. But also alarmed.”

“What the fuck, Tristan! You didn’t think that was a bit premature and/or entirely uncalled for?”

“You do have to admit that the two of you have gone to a number of rather relationship-adjacent events with her, and don’t think that your disappearance at her sister’s wedding wasn’t noted.”

“Jesus, Tristan, we’ve been through this. She injured herself, and I was seeing to it.”

“A likely story,” Caroline said archly.

“I couldn’t agree more.”


	7. And now a break from our regularly scheduled programming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change from the usual, a conversation between Fitzwilliam Darcy and Evelyn Fitzwilliam, taking place immediately after the events of chapter 6 of An Evening at the Opera.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, MP, newly minted Foreign Minister, returned to his office following a cabinet meeting to see his cousin, right hand man, and good friend Evelyn Fitzwilliam, seated in one of the chairs usually reserved for visitors, staring off into the distance and drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair he occupied.

“So how did it go?” Fitzwilliam asked, not entirely optimistic about the answer he was about to receive, given the scene he had entered to see.

“Not well,” Evelyn replied in a defeated tone, “not well  _ at all _ .”

“But you finally told her how you felt?”

“I did. She did not take the news well.”

Fitzwilliam sat down in the other chair. “How could she not take it well? I got the definite impression that she liked you.”

“It would appear,” Evelyn said flatly, “that she felt rather blindsided by that information, and had been working under the impression that we were just good friends. She then went on to explain that she has been focussing solely on study for so long that she doesn’t know if she’s ready for a relationship or something to that effect.”

“That was it?”

“Yes. She said that she had other engagements to attend, and left. Apparently she’s going to ‘get back to me’ once she’s ‘sorted stuff out’.”

“You’re right,” Fitzwilliam conceded, “that did not go well at all.”

“Honestly, Fitz, the look of horror when I told her that I wished to pursue a romantic attachment. I thought she was going to faint for a moment.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the fainting type,” Fitzwilliam refuted. Evelyn gave him a withering look. Fitzwilliam responded in kind. “She didn’t say no,” he pointed out. 

“Not in as many words, perhaps, but it certainly wasn’t a yes. Not by a very long shot.”

“You never know, E,” Fitzwilliam said encouragingly, “she could just need some time to figure things out before she accepts your offer.”

“You’re not a simpleton, Fitz,” Evelyn began, “nor are you naïve. We can both agree that the absence of a yes is essentially a no.”

“Listen, the day after you first met her, when you were spouting all this stuff about how you had met the most amazing woman, and how you were well and truly smitten et cetera,”

“I never said that,” Evelyn protested.

“It was implied,” Fitzwilliam argued. “I was… somewhat surprised, given the general tenor of your interactions with her sister. To such an extent that I went over to discuss the matter with her.”

“Christ, Fitz, you didn’t, surely.”

“It was the end of a very long couple of days, and I wasn’t in my right mind as a result, obviously now I can see that that was a stupid thing to do, which in no way could have ended well, and I’m not proud of it.”

“Clearly, and good.”

“Don’t give me that. She excoriated me pretty conclusively at the time.”

“I should hope so.”

“Whose side are you on?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Evelyn replied. Why are you telling me this?”

“Well after her initial disbelief at my report, she mentioned that you were likely in for a bit of a rough time, because apparently Mary has a history of resolutely refusing to believe that chaps are interested in her, so it follows that she could have been genuinely surprised by your revelation.”

“Fitz, I was hardly subtle in the leadup.”

“Hardly subtle by your standards? Or by the standards of people observing?” Evelyn shrugged in response. “Because apparently she’s had some chap from her undergraduate studies after her for something close to a decade, and she has been laughing it off the whole time,” Fitzwilliam explained. “So maybe hold off on growing a despondency beard for the time being.”

“Why would you bring up the fact that I can’t grow a convincing beard?” Evelyn asked with mock affront. “That’s a low blow.” Fitzwilliam just gave him a smug look. Evelyn sighed. “I know the chap you’re talking about,” he said in resignation.

“So you concede that maybe she wasn’t just trying to soften the blow of rejection and maybe actually just needed some time to consider this new information while she tries to sort out her life post-university? How many degrees does she have, anyway?”

“Too many,” said Evelyn with an indulgent smile, “and yes, I concede that your argument has some merit.”

“Thank you,” Fitzwilliam said in an expansive manner uncomfortably reminiscent of their shared aunt. “Now can you stop the Byronic brooding? I’m honestly worried that you’re going to find some moor to wander about in your shirtsleeves, lightly dampened by the mist.”

Evelyn stood haughtily. “What I do on my weekends, Fitzwilliam, is none of your concern.”


	8. Meanwhile, in conversation between two other siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The discussion which emerged when Georgiana's glares got a bit much and Elizabeth took the hint in chapter 14 of Politics and Profanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know me. I love some good, clean siblings giving each other shit.

The moment Elizabeth was out of the room, Georgiana rounded on her brother. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” she hissed. “I cannot believe you.”

“What are you talking about?” Darcy asked, legitimately confused.

Georgiana looked apoplectic. “Rescuing Evie’s girlfriend’s sister from unacceptable accommodation is one thing. That’s fine. That’s the right thing to do. But Jesus fucking Christ, Fitz, you’ve been less affectionate with women you were sleeping with.”

Darcy had no response to this. The two of them just glared at each other. Eventually Georgiana relented, as she usually did. “Fitz, the optics of this are horrific,” she said, leaning back in her chair and pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Darcy shrugged. “It’s not a problem, because I am a professional struggle she just has to tolerate. There is nothing there on her side of things.”

“Fitz, you sweet and innocent darling. You may have been busy staving off systemic shock, but I was perfectly functional when the two of you shuffled in this afternoon. That is probably why you didn’t notice that you were highbeaming like crazy, and she was trying very hard, and noticeably failing, not to look.”

Darcy looked confused. “What is highbeaming?”

Georgiana laughed and pulled out her phone, navigating to an urban dictionary entry. “Highbeaming,” she explained.

“Oh god.” Darcy breathed.

“Don’t sweat it, bro. She seemed into it. Hell, she seemed into the whole dampened thing.”

“I thought the optics of this were horrific,” Darcy reminded her.

“They are, Fitz. They are so utterly unacceptable. But you’re both conventionally attractive, and intelligent, she’s the daughter of a Lord, and she’s well on the way to being sister in law to a peer of the realm, so she’s almost acceptable. So not all is lost, but honestly Fitz, why are you like this? Why of all people someone so not…. Establishment?”

“She’s the daughter of a Lord, and well on the way to being sister in law to a peer of the realm,” Darcy retorted with a smirk.

“He was kicked up to the lords for being a troublemaking little shit. Tristan keeps me far better informed than you. And her connection to a peer of the realm is contingent on things like Evie getting his shit together, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Since when is marriage on the table between Evie and Mary?” Darcy asked, genuinely curious.

“Basically since the moment he met her. I would say how have you not noticed, but let’s be real, that stopped being a question when I realised that you’ve been distracted by little miss Terrifying and Tiny.”

Darcy got up and poured himself a glass of water. Georgiana jumped up and took it off him. Darcy poured himself another glass of water. “Nothing is going to happen, because as you say, the optics are terrible, and I do not have the capacity to deal with bad optics.”

“No, Fitz, you do not.”

“I do not.”

“No.” Georgiana draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed him on the temple. “It sucks, but someone suitable will come along eventually. Who knows, you could ask Aunt Catherine for a recommendation. I’m sure she’d be more than willing to oblige.” 

“Georgiana, I swear I will actually murder you if you say that ever again.”


End file.
